by MK Schiller
“Sometimes the kids think it’s funny to trap them. The mamas lay their eggs here. When the little ones hatch, they start their journey from right here until it’s time for them to come back in a few years and lay their own eggs.
“Let me introduce you to a real-life sea turtle.”
I waved at the animal, unsure if she expected me to offer a handshake or pet its shell. She walked over to the waves, holding it up against the moonlight like the scene from The Lion King. I would have laughed if I wasn’t in awe. “Have a safe journey, little one, and a good lost year.” She set it in the water. She rinsed her hands and stood. We watched it drift away, the waves carrying him at first until he moved with them.
“I hope he survives.” The breeze picked up strands of her hair. They circled her head like a crown…no, more like a halo.
Stuffing my hands in my pockets, I stepped closer to her. “Did you say lost year?”
“The first year of the sea turtle migration is called the lost year because no one knows what they do, despite all the technology we have to track them, but I have my theories.”
“What’s your theory?”
Her eyes grew wistful as she looked out into the turbulent waves. Was she praying? “I think they might be searching for what’s missing. Maybe they are looking for the parents who abandoned them or the turtle they’re supposed to make babies with. Even if they find what’s lost, they never make up the time they spent searching.”
I put my hand on the small of her back. “Maybe they’re just partying it up, having epic sex, and drinking all the time.”
She cracked a smile. “Yeah, maybe so, Jason.”
“My friends call me Flynn.”
She started walking again. “I’ll let you know when we’re friends, New York.” I winced at her statement, but I understood her need to be guarded—her emotions probably conflicting with basic logic. I’d had the same argument many times myself tonight.
None of this made sense. It was like I’d lived a lifetime with her, but we’d never met.
It was messing with my head, but being on the beach with her, it was worth all the crazy.
“I look forward to that moment.”
“So Rose is your aunt?”
“Yeah. How do you know her?”
“I worked at the diner, too. I think you’re my replacement.”
I made another mental note to talk to Aunt Rose about this whole thing. I’d be careful, weighing each word. “Big shoes to fill.”
“Is that a crack about my big feet?”
“God no.” I dropped my jaw, but she started laughing.
“Kidding.” She bumped my shoulder. I bumped her back. “I love Rose. She’s looked out for me over the years. You’re lucky to be related.”
“I’m finding that out.”
She looked down at her watch, rubbing the band with her wrist. She’d done it a few times. I had a feeling it was more of a habit than her need to know the time. “Where are you from in New York?”
“Manhattan.”
“Oh, a rich boy.”
“My father’s family is wealthy. Me, not so much.”
“Did you live in one those high-rises?”
“Most recently in a dorm room, but my dad owns a penthouse apartment.”
“I can picture you there. It’s in your stature.”
“That sounds a little like an insult.”
“Just an observation. You have…I don’t know what to call it. I guess refinement? Like…maybe you’re an expert at making a Windsor knot and you always use your outside fork for the salad? It’s in your air.”
I cracked a smile. “Is that a nice way of calling me a snob?”
She shrugged. “It wasn’t all that nice.”
“No, but we are sharing the same air, Scarlett.”
She took a deep breath when I said her name. We were struggling with the air between us.
“I’ve had a nice life, but that doesn’t make me an ass.”
“No, of course not. You’re just different. Very different from me…I mean, from us.”
“Us?”
“Island people.”
I couldn’t argue that. “Not in the ways that count,” I said, not sure what I meant.
She nodded, eyeing me suspiciously. “I live in a trailer park. It’s a nice one with flower beds and garages, but yeah, a trailer park.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that. I would never judge you.”
She bit her lip and narrowed those baby blues my way. “I’m not telling you because I’m ashamed. I’m telling you because it’s a fact, just like you told me you live in a penthouse.”
“Why do you think I’m so different than you?”
“I actually have no idea who you are.” She made quotation marks. “You’re Mr. I wear-a-belt-with-my-jeans-and-I’m-super-clean-cut, but then suddenly you’re Mr. tough guy who could rearrange someone’s face. I’m just trying to figure you out.”
“I don’t know about all that. I just got a haircut, and I’m only tough when I need to be. As for my jeans, they have loops for a reason.” I held up my hand in surrender. “But if the belt offends you, feel free to remove it at any time.”
She giggled. “I like the belt. I think the boy who wears it is pretty cute, too.” She winked at me.
I had to shift the belt to readjust my pants when she turned around.
“It’s just most guys aren’t as concerned with their appearance. At least in my experience,” she said.
“A guy shouldn’t let everyone know what color boxers he’s wearing. A girl can get away with that shit.”
She laughed, taking a strand of hair and twisting it into a braid. I swallowed. She braided her hair when she was nervous. I knew this like I knew I was allergic wool. It wasn’t a feeling or an intuition. It was a fact.
“So, you like girls who reveal their panty colors freely?”
I shrugged. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t condemn them if they did.”
“You don’t talk like most guys, but maybe you’re not so different after all.” I was pretty sure that was an insult. She ran in front of me and then walked backward. “Don’t you like the mystery of guessing? Isn’t the curiosity sort of sexy?” She lifted the hem of her skirt, just an inch, showing off the smallest patch of skin at her calves, revealing a chain of shells tied with jute around her ankle.
I dragged a hand through my hair. “Funny, because now all I’m doing is…”
“Trying to guess the color of my panties. I know.”
“And you think I’m dangerous.”
She sauntered over to me, closing the gap so only a small space existed between us. “Maybe we’re dangerous for each other,” she said in her low, husky voice with just a hint of southern twang.
She stepped closer to me. God, she smelled good. Like honey and strawberries. She stood on her tiptoes and put her arms around my shoulders. The kiss was unexpected but very welcomed. I clasped her hips and pulled her against me. What little self-control I had slipped away as my other head took over. Her pupils dilated and her mouth parted in an invitation.
I crushed my mouth against hers, tasting the forbidden fruit on them. Damn…it tasted so good. I lifted her. Her silky hair blew against my face, and her breasts pressed against my chest. The kiss lasted long enough to be several kisses, each one raw, urgent and greedy.
Her lips tasted of fruit, smooth and sweet. She flicked her tongue against mine. She fisted her hands through my hair. I had to put her down. We both stared at each other, breathless with chapped lips and stunned expressions.
“Fuck me,” I muttered.
“Or me,” she said.
“Your lips are so soft.”
She lowered her eyes. “And you’re very, very hard.” Yeah, she wasn’t talking about my lips.
“Affirmative.”
I traced her bottom lip, now naked from the gloss. “Was it honey?”
“Honey mango.”
Of course it was.
�
��Care to see if your other guess is correct?”
“My other guess?”
She stood on her tiptoes. Her mouth hovered next to my ear as she whispered seductively, “What color panties I’m wearing.”
“Yeah, Texas, I’d really, really like that.”
Chapter Eight
The parking lot of the Beach Shack was full of people. My gut tightened as she said her goodbyes. Russell shot me a few “I want to piss in your cornflakes” looks when Scarlett told him I’d be driving her home. He glared at me as he announced he’d walk home.
As excited as I was to spend more time with her, I did feel sorry for him. He cared about Scarlett. I shoved my hand in my pocket again when his embrace lasted a minute too long for comfort. She broke it, kissing him on the cheek and promising to call him before she left.
She acted surprised when I took the guitar case from her. But when I walked to the passenger side of the car and opened the door, Scarlett looked downright confused.
“Aren’t you driving?”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you getting in the passenger seat?”
“I’m not.”
She wrinkled her nose in confusion. “Then why—”
“Scarlett, has no man ever held the door open for you?”
“Not really,” she replied, biting her lower lip.
I gestured her to sit. “Please.”
“Nice ride,” she said, running her fingers over the Stang’s dashboard.
“Thanks.”
It was a short drive, the distance not enough to cover even one song on the local island radio. I hoped her place would be familiar, but it wasn’t.
And this was a house I’d remember with its shabby couches covered with old blankets, orange shag carpeting, and large box television complete with antennas. The place looked as if it had landed here from a previous decade, but I liked it. She was in the cracks and crevices of this place.
“Want something to drink?” she asked as she peered behind the couch.
“I’m fine, thanks. Where are your parents?” I asked, noticing the large photo in the living room of a woman who resembled Scarlett, except she wore more layers of makeup and a hardness lurked in her eyes.
“Well, my daddy went to buy a pack of smokes in the city, but that was eight years ago. So, either he has a very hard-to-find brand or he got very lost.” Although her statement was sad, her tone was not.
I chuckled. “Wow, Texas, you made me feel sorry for you and laugh a little at the same time.”
She stopped looking under the couch and stood up, smiling brightly, giving me a curtsy. “I have that talent.”
“And your mom?”
It wouldn’t have been obvious if I wasn’t staring at her face so intently, but her mouth tightened, and her smile lost its glow. “She’s with her boyfriend. He lives on the mainland, so she’s gone a lot.” She gestured around the small living room. “This is just a storage space for all her forgotten stuff.”
I had a feeling Scarlett counted herself among those items.
“She’s not coming back to see you off?” As soon as I mentioned it, the dread set in. We only had one night together. It didn’t seem fair, but what could I do? If I told her the truth, which I couldn’t even explain myself, it would just scare her away. Hell, it scared the fuck out of me.
She looked in the tiny kitchen. “She’ll be here in the morning to drive me to the bus station.”
“What are you looking for?”
Out of nowhere, a ball of fur shot through the air and landed right in her arms. “There you are,” she cooed to it. She held up the giant furball to me. “New York, meet Septimus Warren Smith, my kitty.” Kitty? It looked like a large rat with its gray fur and black eyes.
“Cute,” I said, feeling the large rodent’s glare. I went to pet it. It reciprocated with a hiss, batting my hand away.
“He has trouble making friends. He used to be feral.”
“Are you sure he still isn’t?”
“Don’t worry, he’s had all his shots. He’s a good kitty, right, Mr. Septimus?” The cat licked her face in reply. She walked over to the small kitchenette, taking a treat out of a cookie jar. “Go play,” she said, putting the cat down.
“Where did you find him?”
“In a dark alley, but I swear he’s not an asshole,” she said, referencing my comment earlier.
“Well, at least he likes you.”
“He loves me. I just hope he can stand the long bus ride.”
“He’s going with you?”
“Of course, he’s my family, and I don’t abandon family. We’re a package deal.”
I decided right then that I’d learn to love Septimus…or at least tolerate him.
“Any special reason your cat is named after a Virginia Woolf character?”
She smiled, petting the feline. I could hear the purr from the other side of the room. “You’ve read Mrs. Dalloway?”
“Yeah, I’m assuming you have, too.”
“It took me forever, but I finally finished it. I was reading it when I found him. He reminded me of Septimus, I guess.” She stood and walked over to me. We stared at each other. Her mouth parted, and I struggled not to pull her in for another kiss. I wanted to feel the weight of her in my arms and taste the flavor of her mouth again. But I wasn’t sure if she wanted that. At least not yet. And I had so many questions.
“Well, if the singing doesn’t work out, you can always try entering ugly cat contests. You’d make a killing.”
“Hey, that’s not nice. He can hear you.” She playfully punched me on the arm. “You should apologize.”
I gestured to the recliner where he’d taken residence. “Maybe later. He looks like he’s busy licking his balls right now.”
“Oh, guess he is. We should give him some privacy. Want to see my room?”
She didn’t wait for my response. She started walking, and I followed. I had to duck to get through the doorway of her room.
A blue suitcase, covered in those feel-good bumper stickers, stood in one corner of the room, mocking me.
“Dreams are meant to be chased,” one said in bright rainbow lettering. Don’t I know it.
A duffle bag lay open on her bed. At least a half-dozen tubes of lip balm were in an open canvas bag on top of the clothes and magazines. She moved the duffle onto the floor.
She gestured for me to sit, but I walked around the room instead. There were chili pepper lights around her windows. She turned them on. The ceiling, covered by illuminated plastic stars, created a small glow, casting shadows of light and dark throughout the space. A single large bookcase was lined with records and a few books. Scattered throughout were a few photos. There was none of Vance, but several of Russell, her, and another boy at various ages. I saw her at ten, twelve, fifteen, looking the same as she did in my dreams.
A picture in a bright orange plastic frame caught my eye. She wore a pink turtleneck with red hearts all over it. Her dimply smile made even more prominent by the mouthful of metal. A ponytail on each side of her head contained all the symmetry of a Picasso painting…adorable.
She took the frame from me. I thought she’d stuff it into a drawer, but instead, she carefully wrapped it in newspaper and placed it inside her duffle bag between some clothes. “That’s the worse picture, but I kind of love it. It was my awkward stage.”
“I think you look beautiful, but why take it if you think it’s a bad picture?”
She shrugged and looked down. I tilted her chin until we were at eye level. “C’mon, you have a reason.”
“I went through a lot when I was younger. It reminds me of where I was and where I am. Even then, when everything was falling apart, I could still smile. That was my superpower.” She stepped away from me, her mouth slightly open. “I can’t believe I told you that. Man, I didn’t have that much to drink, but—”
“I’m happy you told me. We don’t need to put on any acts tonight. We can be free and honest.”
/> She quirked her brow. “That sounds dangerous. I just met you.”
She’d found a few root beers in the fridge. I drank and watched as she wrapped up a few more picture frames. “I’m sorry. I just feel if I don’t do this, I might forget tomorrow.”
“Can I help?”
“No, I’m almost done.” She held up two photo frames of her, Russ, and another boy. One showed them at a young age in swimming gear on the beach. She looked so cute with her pink snorkel. In another one, they were older and dressed up. Scarlett wore a red dress and had a corsage on her wrist. Russ and the other boy flanked her. She pursed her lips and looked between the photos as if trying to decide which one to take. In the end, she carefully wrapped both frames up and put them in her duffle bag.
“You and Russell have been friends for a long time.”
“Is that a question?” She zipped up her bag.
“Just an observation.”
“We grew up together. He’s like a brother to me.” Poor Russell—bro-zoned and broken-hearted.
She bounced on the bed and patted the area next to her. To my surprise, she jumped on my lap, straddling me as soon as I sat. She threw her arms around me and kissed me firmly. There was nothing tentative about this kiss. It was unapologetic, and I welcomed it with every cell in my body. From the moment her soft lips touched mine, I was on fire for her. The dreams were great, but nothing buzzed life into my blood like the feel of her.
She forced my mouth open with hers, rolling her tongue against mine. I slid her hair away from her face and trailed my mouth down her jawline and throat. Her skin was warm and tasted sweet like vanilla. She squirmed against me. I struggled to stay in control. Her fingers found their way to my shirt. My dick hardened with every button she released. Why the fuck did I wear a buttoned shirt?
I fought hard not to pick her up and throw her onto her back. I wanted to fuck her hard and fast. Then I wanted to pleasure every inch of her. I was so hungry for her. No…not hungry. Starved was a better word.
She stopped, backing up slightly so a small gap existed between us.
“Scarlett?”
She pushed me away and took a strand of her own hair, braiding it in a matter of seconds. Damn…how did her fingers work so fast? “Before we go any further, I want you to know something about me.”
